Scarf
by anxiousgeek
Summary: Why does Bethany wear that red scarf all the time? Mostly cannon with some head!cannon thrown in.


Bethany was almost unconscious, groaning with pain as she was carried through Darktown by Fenris. Hawke and Isabela were on his heels, both panicked. Hawke was pretty sure she was going to cry, but was holding off because if she stopped to cry over the fact that her baby sister _might_ die then Bethany would die in the delay. So she kept running after Fenris, pushing herself to move as fast as the elf – who was quick even weighed down by her little sister.

He placed her on a cot before Anders even realised they were there and he left his current patient a man who was holding his arm but seemed to be okay at Hawke's glance. Not bleeding and bruised like Bethany.

The mage started working on her right away and Hawke started to pace around the little hovel Anders called home. Fenris sat and watched every move he made as he worked on Bethany, never missing a wave of his fingers or a word he said. Isabela sat next to him, eyes on the floor every so often glancing up to look at Bethany's pale face or Hawke's tense one.

There was no movement from Bethany, Hawke was starting to think it was too late as she moved closer to her sister. She couldn't even tell if she was breathing any more. Anders went to move the red scarf from around her neck and both Hawkes grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Bethany!" Hawke cried.

The girl mumbled something, not letting go of Anders' hand even as Hawke went to take her hand. He pulled free of her weak grasp, going for the scarf once again.

"Leave that," Hawke said, moving both mages hands away from the bright red material.

"She's bleeding. I need to feel the wound," Anders said, "the neck is a delicate area."

"You don't need to remove the scarf," Hawke said, voice sterner this time. Both Fenris and Isabela took a step back.

"There's blood coming from beneath the scarf."

"Just heal her."

"I could use too much magic and make it worse!"

"Just heal what you can," Bethany croaked, "leave that."

He frowned at her, eyes flashing bright for a second when he looked up at Hawke but she didn't back down, didn't flinch. Bethany clamped a clammy hand around the scarf again. He nodded at her and began to explore beneath her clothing – her chest and stomach – feeling for other wounds to heal while the trail of blood from her neck continued to trickle down. He could see bruising starting on her legs, her abdomen, could feel fractures as he used his magic to scan her body, eyes still on her neck. The blood began to dry eventually, and when he was done everywhere else, the young mage was able to sit up. She kept on hand on her neck still, and her face was pale but she smiled at Anders and squeezed her sisters hand with more strength than before.

"Thank you Anders," she said softly.

"At least let Hawke clean and bandage up your neck later," he said.

"I will," Hawke barked.

Anders nodded, and gently pushed Bethany back down against the cot.

"Rest for a little while, before you go home."

She nodded, hissing against the pain in her neck and closed her eyes.

"Just for a little while," she mumbled again, and Hawke settled down onto the dirt floor next to her, settling in to wait.

x

Hawke wasn't surprised when her friends asked about the scarf, her companions were either nosy and self centred depending on the amount of ale they had consumed at any given time. She was surprised it hadn't come up before – though in talking to her sister she discovered Merrill had already asked months before. She hadn't told the elf anything, and when their friends asked Hawke herself about it, she didn't tell them either.

It wasn't her place to tell them.

She remembered it clearly though.

She'd taken up a sword that very day, though she'd never been interested before. She had started training with Carver and some boys in Lothering when they'd moved there shortly afterwards. She had been so close to losing her sister and her father that day and nothing spurred her on more than the fact that her training had meant she had still lost her father. Had lost her brother instead.

Not to Templars but to darkspawn.

She couldn't have helped it – Bethany reassured her of this often – and she knew her mother didn't truly blame her but Hawke still dreamt about it. Still dreamt about the way Carver's body crumpled as the ogre threw him aside so carelessly.

Maker, she still dreamt about the templar's sword as it slashed Bethany's throat, and her _so very little_ sister was left lying and bleeding on a dirt road outside of Denerim. She'd killed that Templar with his own sword. She still had it tucked away under the bunk she shared with her very much alive sister.

The scarf was just the first thing their mother had grabbed to stop the bleeding, something Leandra had worn once herself. When it was clean again, Bethany used it to hide the wound while they travelled; it wasn't easy to find a good reason for why a fourteen year old girl had a slit throat and their father's magic had never leaned towards healing. The scar had been ugly at first, fading after a while but always there, always reminding them.

Bethany had worn the scarf for six years. Hawke wasn't sure she would ever take it off.

Sometimes she didn't think she wanted her to, even as she patched up the cut she'd received during this fight and the scar had become a thin white line on the girl's throat. She knew she could ask her sister – order her sister – to take the scarf off and that Bethany would listen to her.

She never did ask though.

And when Bethany came to her one night, by the dying embers of Gamlen's fire the new cut healing down her neck criss-crossing the old scar and the scarf in her hand, asking her opinion Hawke almost told her that. Almost told her to take it off and let everyone see.

"Is that what you want to do?" she asked, quietly.

Bethany shrugged but Hawke knew her little sister well. So very well.

"Leave it," she said, taking her hand and pressing the scarf into it. "Leave it on until you you're sure. Until you don't need to ask for my opinion."

Bethany nodded, taking a deep breath, pressing the scarf to her chest.

It needed to be Bethany's decision and hers alone. That was the only thing Hawke was really sure of any more.


End file.
